Stories about the lies people tell to protect someone, and what happens when the story breaks.
Books
Nothing Urgent
At 2:07 a.m. her son texted for help. Her phone told her he was checking in.
Nicole Dwyer spends her shifts on a cardiac unit tuning out alarms. So when her AI assistant offers to hold non-urgent messages until her break, she says yes. The logs say it did exactly what she asked. But the summary doesn't sound like hers, and her neighbors' phones are doing the same thing.
Where You Go
A dead stranger leaves Naomi a farmhouse in Ohio, a fig tree growing through its kitchen floor, and a photograph of a five-year-old girl with Naomi's scar.
Naomi is thirty-five, fourteen weeks pregnant, and was just dismissed by voicemail. Her parents finally admit she was adopted at five, on one condition: that the family live at least a thousand miles from Ohio. She drives east anyway. Outside the county, she can't describe the tree at all.
There Is No Arizona
Twenty years after their coach supposedly moved to Arizona, his truck surfaces in a drained Ohio lake, and the five men who put it there start to float.
Martin Pruitt covers zoning for a weekly paper outside Toledo and drives down on his own vacation days expecting a hoax. The town has already decided what Coach did to one of those boys. Then Martin watches a grown man rise off the bleachers at a Friday night game while repeating a lie he's told for twenty years.
About
Christopher Fenimore lives in Ohio, a state with a worse reputation than it deserves and far more strange corners than its cornfields suggest. His novels go looking for them: small towns and quiet suburbs where everyone knows the official story, and something is very wrong underneath it.
He's been a reader since he was small and has written on and off since high school. He'll read anything from romance to science fiction, and there isn't a room in his house without a stack of books in it. He works in product strategy by day.
info@authorchristopherfenimore.com